Endless Adventure

The Orc King's Bride - Cecily Anne Winters

True to his words, the orc sent emissaries into all directions of the king’s former, vast lands. Wherever they passed, desperate wails and desolation settled into the homes and hearts of those left behind. The orcs advanced on the former king’s castle as their final stop on their mission.

They had already been expected.

When they cockily demanded entry, they were accompanied into the heart of the castle, the center court. Black flags had been raised already, for word of what had happened at the last battle, and all thereafter, had been spread throughout the whole continent. Around the court, the pitiful remnants of the king’s army waited, prepared to die at a single word in defense of their princess, last heir to the king’s name. Above them, on a balcony, stood the queen dowager and the princess. Dressed in solemn black, devoid of any ornaments, they could hardly be seen against the backdrop of the stone walled keep.

The orcs’ advance was heralded by the sounds of fanfares, as was custom for high ranking guests. Yet, their tunes were oddly off, as if even the instruments didn’t want them to be here. Their foul odor permeated the air long before they finally settled smack in the middle of the scene.

There were only three of them. Each of them was at least two meters of height, bulky and of dark green skin. Their snouts proudly presented two yellowed tusks, above which comparably small, evil looking eyes lay half hidden. Unfazed by the display of strength around them, the tallest one stepped forward. In a mock salute, he bowed deep.

“Thank you so much, your highness, for seeing us right away.” His voice was awfully high pitched for an orc, grating on the attendants’ nerves. “Courtesy of the new king, we come to grant you one last gaze on your late king’s face.” With swift motions, he brought forward a dirtied bundle he carelessly carried over his shoulder. “He looks a bit worse for the wear, but I’m sure you don’t mind.”

The other orcs snickered, while the air around all of them thickened. One last pull on the strings and the bundle opened.

An audible gasp went through the people. It was a truly horrific sight, with nothing left of the person they once knew, except for a shock of white hair.

Laughing at their reaction, the orc sloppily tossed the head from one huge paw into the other.

This proved too much for the dowager queen. With a piercing scream, she fainted into the arms of her lady in waiting, well hidden behind her. While the dowager queen was tended to, the orcs gloried in the pain and revulsion they had caused.

“I must thank you, for allowing me to see my father one last time, o great orcs.” The princess’ sweet voice, devoid of any emotion, gave the orcs pause. “It is a favor not many kings would grant those their actions have left behind. Please, convey my eternal gratitude to your master.” Her face was as unreadable as her voice, and she didn’t waver in the slightest, although her father’s head must have caused her as much heartbreak as her grandmother.

“I have asked the staff to prepare a welcome meal for you, for your way has been far and you must have encountered many dangers.” Gracefully, she waved her hand and servants busied themselves bringing tables filled with food. Strong stable hands carried specially made seats to allow the orcs to sit down without breaking the normal benches.

For the first time, onlookers saw the orcs feeling uncomfortable. None of them had had a cooked meal in the weeks they had been on the road, living mostly off fresh deer they had caught. They had very much been a sign of the hated oppressor, coming to claim what was rightfully his. This though - it felt like a trap.

“Excuse us, your highness—” the speaker orc started, but the princess would have none of that.

“It would be equally rude of you to not sit down and eat, as it would be of me not to offer it. Please, eat your fill. Music will start shortly. I only ask you to hand my father’s head to my trusted servant.” She nodded towards a shaking man who appeared next to the orc, draping a pure, white, linen cloth around the head and sprang away before the beast even knew what had happened.

Using his confusion, she added gracefully, “I will be down to dine with you shortly, so that you must not be afraid of the food. After all, what would we gain from harming you, I ask? The orc king has defeated our armies, so what was once ours’ is rightfully his.”

Without another word, she descended into the keep. Agitated, the orcs whispered amongst themselves, using the strange, guttural language of the mountains they had sprung from. Unknowingly, the princess had both unsettled and doomed them with her kindness for they had been charged with returning the king’s head to their king.

Failure was punished by death.

***

“You can’t just go, princess! He’s going to kill you!” Her lady in waiting and best friend, Gwendolyn, whispered urgently, but princess Amarante shrugged at her.

“What do you expect me to do? The orc king has made it clear that he wants to stake his claim to my lands by marrying me. It’s not like there’s many other possibilities.”

“You could always run away—”

A peal of laughter, heartfelt and deep, escaped Amara.

“You cannot be serious! Wherever would I run to? And who’d be foolish enough to take me in?” She shook her pretty head and set her shoulders into that stance that Gwenny had seen often enough. The one that said she’d made up her mind and stuck to her plan, come hell or high water.

“You know, you have an awful lot in common with your late father.” Gwenny whispered, afraid of her friend’s reaction. It was a very direct way of bringing up that Amara was actually not blood related to the king. She had been found on a doorstep by the king himself, not long after his beloved wife had died from injuries sustained in a riding accident. Heart broken and in need of an heir, he had taken it as a sign from the gods and adopted Amarante.

But the young woman was not listening anymore, her mind on the million other things she still needed to prepare for her trip into the mountains. After she had so cleverly taken her father’s head and they buried his remains, she had reversed the roles and sent her own emissaries to the orc king.

The poor lads had been terribly afraid, but then, there was no other way to get her point across towards the brute: That she was willing to marry him, but she would bring a small entourage of her own people with her and they were to be treated excellently, including being allowed to come and go as they needed. After all, she was a princess, soon to be a queen, and as such, she needed to be cared for properly.

According to her people, the orc king had been taken by surprise by her request. Still, as expected, he had grumpily agreed to her seemingly small wish. She smiled grimly. He probably thought her a spoilt brat, but she would see to it that this image would serve her well. After all, in his mind, humans were merely an inconvenience, a nuisance to use until they were too weak to bother with anymore.

“Why do you think the orcs even started the war with us?” Amarante suddenly asked her friend.

Gwendolyn froze, before calmly continuing to comb Amara’s long hair. “I haven’t really thought about it,” she confessed. “It was so hard already to comprehend why they would bother to attack those poor villages located at the edge of their mountains.”

Amara harrumphed.

“I have listened to many opinions of the great people that supported my father in his daily decisions. And yet, for me, all their interesting theories just didn’t sound right.” She caught Gwen’s gaze in the mirror, with steel in her eyes. “Have you ever seen a female orc?”

Gwen slowly felt the comb slide from her fingers, the fall only broken by the silky cloth of her long gown, as realization dawned.

“You think… you imply…”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I think. They might have taken all the supplies they could gather, but I always found it odd that they took so many of the inhabitants with them, too. The men, I understood. But why bother taking the women? Especially the younger ones if not for… peculiar reasons?”

“You think… that they need women to… procreate? But… they are huge and… and ugly… and… how would that even work?”

Amara blushed, but didn’t look away.

“I have not the slightest idea, but I realized that we don’t know a lot about orcs and how they came about.” She sighed. “I have summoned the midwife though. There are rumors that she has also delivered orc babies… and I also… summoned somebody else.”

The other girl didn’t say anything. She knew exactly whom her friend was referring to. But all she could do was hope - and pray to the gods that Amarante knew what she was doing.

Their lives depended on it.

***

Thanks to his gifts, Tris had been prepared when the princess had summoned him to Ellira castle. Once, it was said to have been a flourishing place, located right on top of one of the strongest magic lines on the continent. But when magic had been banned hundreds of years ago, it had also made the lines mostly dry out or die too… and the once grand palace had lost most of its spark as well.

Even worse though, all magic users had been burned as spawn of the dark gods, until only a handful of mages and witches were left. Living in isolation and trying their best to keep the last threads that held the continent together alive. For those envious of their powers had failed to see that magic itself was threaded into each corner of this vast land, both protecting and supporting life and abundance for all of them.

The door in front of him opened, and Helen, the midwife, slipped out of it. She nodded at him with a friendly smile, but didn’t stop. Nobody who saw them would suspect that they were actually mother and son…

“Master Tristan, the princess awaits you.”

Bowing deeply, a lackey invited him into the throne room. He squinted, in order to adjust to the light after waiting in the antechamber for so long. But before he could fully get his bearings, he already heard the princess’ melodic voice.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Master Tristan.”

He obediently bowed, trying to locate her in the huge room

“It is both my pleasure and my surprise, your highness. But please, my name is Tris.”

Her slender figure stepped in front of him, her velvety laugh wrapping around him like a heady perfume would, giving him pause.

“You don’t like Tristan?” She asked lightly, but didn’t wait for an answer. “Please, take a seat. I have asked the kitchen to prepare some snacks as I would kindly ask for your help in a… delicate matter.” Grabbing his arm, she swiftly drew him into the direction of a small reading table and some chairs situated next to a window towards the end of the room.

He shuddered beneath her surprising touch, his body feeling suddenly very much alive. Even his magic, usually quite content to wait for him to call on it, reacted and cautiously stretched tendrils towards her hand.

Intrigued, he followed her willingly, but couldn’t help pointing out her uncommon behavior: “Your highness…”

“Oh…” Blushing slightly, the princess remembered protocol and let go of him. Her mouth formed a perfect o, her cheeks carried the most exquisite shade of pink, and her eyes…

Tris had never seen eyes like princess’ Amarante’s before. They were so light blue, they shimmered silver, and looked straight into his soul… into his magic.

Who was this girl that carried the weight of a kingdom on her slight shoulders?

She drew him out of his head when she muttered: “please excuse my harsh behavior, Master Trist… Tris. My dire situation seems to have taken all my decorum away.” And then, much to his astonishment, she dropped into a curtsy.

“Your highness…” He swallowed, unsure of what to do or say. Tris had never been so close to royalty, and he felt very much out of depth. “Please don’t do that. I’m merely your servant, here to hopefully find a cure to your ailment, whichever it is. No need to…”

With a relieved sigh, the princess straightened and granted him a quivering smile.

“Am I forgiven then?”

Words suddenly eluded him. Parts of her light brown hair had fallen from her strict hairdo, and the sun illuminated her in a way that she appeared almost ethereal. And her eyes…

He felt like falling into them, into her.

Before he could do anything stupid, like falling on his knee and professing his undying love to her, a servant appeared and brought the mentioned refreshments. Still, the princess and the covert mage silently stared at each other. Seconds turned into eternity, and with each passing moment, the light in her eyes burned brighter until the fire in them seemed to jump into him. His magic welcomed the spark, a spark he had unknowingly been searching for his whole life.

The soft click of the door closing drew them out of their silent reverie of each other.

Blushing furiously once more, the princess gestured for the mage to seat himself.

“As you know, my father was killed in the war against the orcs. You might not have heard yet that… the orc king has decided to… fortify… his claim on our lands by—” her voice became strained, and so quiet he had to lean in closer to understand what she was saying, “marrying me. That’s why… I need your help.”

“Anything for you, your highness.”

***

“Gwen, you should have seen him! He’s incredibly handsome, and sotall. Also, he’s well mannered and gentle and..”

Gwendolyn could only stare at Amarante with an open mouth.

“Are you… in love?” She whispered, not sure if she should be happy for her friend or not.

“I might be but… Gwen, it can’t be helped! I promised myself to the orc, and there’s no way out for me! How can life be so unfair?” Tears burned behind the princess’ beautiful eyes, turning them into liquid pools of mercury.

“Shh, love. I’m sure it’ll work out.” She tried to sooth her princess, but really, there was not much to be done. In truth, even if Amara had not already promised to marry him, if the orc king had insisted on marrying her, she would have to comply. It was a princess’ duty to marry whom she was told to by the king… who happened to be the orc himself, currently.

“What did you actually discuss with Master Tris? You haven’t really told me… are you having secrets?”

But the princess simply smiled and shook her head. She had gotten everything she needed. They would meet again shortly before she had to leave for the orc king.

“I should have asked him to come live here with me.”

“Master Tris?”

“What? Oh, no, Gwen!” Amara blushed furiously, just thinking about it. “What are you saying? I meant… well, the orc king, obviously.”

Gwen chuckled, but added a quick: “You could still ask him, you know? It would probably be much healthier for you to continue living here, rather than in the harsh mountains.”

The princess nodded solemnly.

“But they are connected to their mountain. Nobody has ever seen an orc living anywhere but on that mountain, so… I doubt he would have agreed. Did you see to it that I have enough warm clothes?”

“Of course, my lady. Also all of those who join you will have ample time to hopefully be comfortable in the orcs’ lair.” After a short break, she continued: “But you should definitely ask him if you could return here once you’re married. As far as I understood, you have to marry him according to orc rituals, and these have to happen on the mountain. But it would be beneficial to the rule of his new lands and for your health if you spent part of the year here.

“I can try but… I guess I have to go up there first to find out all of that. Meet my husband-to-be, at least.” She turned towards the window, staring toward said mountain with hooded eyes. “How I wished things were different…”

***

“Mother, there must be a way! I can’t simply… simply…”

As soon as his time had allowed, Tris headed to his mother’s house. Standing before her now, looking angry and unhappy and desperate, she felt deeply for him. She had felt similar when faced with his father, but back then, there had not been a way for them to be together. Not like with these two… and she accepted that she had to trust in what was to come if she wanted to regain what had been lost so long ago.

Wiping at her suddenly teary eyes, she silently sighed. Wishing for once that his chocolate brown eyes wouldn’t look like an exact replica of the love of her life. Now lost to her forever. All due to a prophecy scried when the hunt for magic and powers began:

When magic dies and mountains rise

a single spark will light the dark

the purest blood will depart

to conjure a truthful heart

She had long watched how magic had become scarcer and scarcer, until she had finally felt its death in her bones. No wonder the orcs - as well as other magical races around - had gone to war against the lowlanders. Without their lives’ source, they would soon start to dwindle until nothing would be left of them but the slime they had been made of. They had hoped to find a cure to the ailment that had befallen their women… or at least a proper replacement.

Shaking her head, she took another look around her little hut, checking that every shadow was as she expected. They couldn’t be overheard right now.

“Tristan,” she nearly whispered, “there might be a way, but it will be hard and there’s no guarantee it’ll work.”

“Anything, Mother. Anything for her.”

She smiled, slowly getting up. He was a good boy. Groaning, she shuffled towards a huge chest standing in a corner. With one last look over her shoulder, she murmured something. A click, and in the front of the chest, a small compartment opened. In it rested a black pouch and a ring.

The witch took everything out and brought it towards her son. Sitting back into her creaking chair, she gestured for him to open his hand. Using her fingers, she drew a pentagram into it and murmured some quiet words in a foreign language. Then, she opened the pouch and drew out a black feather. Placing it in her son’s palm, she used a knife to prick her finger and splotch three drops of her blood on it. Murmuring a few more words, she closed his hand.

“Count to three.”

“One, two,” at his three, she gasped. Wings flapped, and a crow croaked loudly outside.

Tears streamed down her face, but she smiled through them, satisfied with her work.

“Mother…”

“Shush, it is all good. Where you are going, you’ll need all the help you can get.”

His chest hurt in an unfamiliar way, but he didn’t dare move as long as she hadn’t allowed him to. Deep down though, he glowed with happiness and excitement, until he remembered:

“Where are you taking this from? I thought, the source… died?”

“It did, yes. Don’t worry, son. Only worry about the girl you want to rescue, and for your own safety. It’ll take the two of you to free us all.”

She then handed him the ring. It glowed a bright gold, and was adorned with an impressive, dark-red gem that seemed to sparkle despite the darkness that had taken a hold of the world around them.

Taking a black knife from the pouch, she cut his hand this time. He hissed.

“Bleed on the stone, boy.”

Doing as he was told, he watched fascinated how the gem absorbed his blood. Only then was he allowed to slip it on. It fit like it had been made for him.

Finally, the witch handed him the black knife and looked deep into his eyes:

“Use what I have given you carefully. If you spend too much magic too soon, all will be lost. Remember what you have learnt over the years, draw him out and fight him with the fire that now belongs to you. To crown yourself an orc king, you need to cut out his heart with the black knife and eat it. Be prepared, for others who will not want to be ruled by you. I cannot tell you how to handle them, but—” tears ran freely over her wilted face, “your father would be so proud of you, and so am I, son.”